Food for Thought
by tmcala
Summary: Welcome to Clyde Donovan's mind. Sappy love stories and tacos sold seperately.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, due to love of Clyde, this very stream-of-conscious ish fic was created. I have an idea of where I want it to go, but I'd like to know that it's decent before I continue. Comprende?**

* * *

_Chapter 1_

So, if you're here for some story about love or something like that. You might want to go somewhere else. Maybe over to my friend Craig. Because apparently he's decided he's into that kind of stuff now. Love isn't going to happen here. At least, I majorly doubt it. I guess you never really know for sure, but, for now, no love. And no girls who aren't wearing close to zero clothing.

Let's just say, because right about now I have no idea, that this is going to be about food. All about the motherfucking food. You're probably thinking, "This kid is whacked out. It can't be all about food." See, peeps, that's where you're wrong. It _can too _only about food. Hi, I'm Clyde Donovan and I _love_ food.

Well, I guess I already broke my promise about love. Shit.

I'm at Taco Bell and, to clear up any ideas you might have, I think the place is a disgrace to tacos everywhere. I think there's dog shit in my tortilla. I'm not kidding right now. Craig's across from me doing this thing where he takes a bite of his chalupa (best word on the planet, in case you were wondering) and then checks his phone. And then goes back to his chalupa (ha!). Every so often he gets a text and this weird little smile crosses his face. Chalupa, phone, repeat.

He's texting Tweek Tweak and, to clear up any ideas you might have, he doesn't usually hang out with us. Generally, we don't associate with Marsh's gang and Tweek was their replacement Kenny that one time so, yeah. No Tweek in "Craig and those guys". In fact, the only real members of "Craig and those guys" are Craig, Token, and me. Everyone else just kind of comes and goes as they please. People seem to think we're nicer than Marsh's gang, but secretly we're not. I guess Token kind of is. Craig is definitely not.

Craig spends entirely too much time texting Tweek. Because, well, they, y'know, fuck? That's right. My best friend likes dick. It's not really that big of a deal. Some people think it would be, but, if you're like Craig and I, coming out to your best friend goes a little like this: You're sitting in the lunch room (he's got lunchroom tacos because he has _no_ taste in Mexican food and you've got a sandwich) and your best friend points at some twitchy, mess of a kid who comes up to probably your elbow and goes, "That's Tweek Tweak." And you nod and reply, "Yup." And he goes, "I kind of want to fuck him." You grunt and take a bite of your sandwich.

You definitely _don't _go home and cry about it later. I mean, I certainly did _not_. I take these sorts of things like a man. Well, maybe I cried for like a second. Craig's my best friend and all of a sudden I find out he's jonesing for other dudes? Minor style of living adjustment here. Besides, my mom always tells me someday a nice girl is going to love me because I'm sensitive. Instead of just because I have connections to an entire store of shoes. My mom's the best, but most other girls suck. By the way, Craig's not into me or anything; believe me, I asked. He actually laughed in response, which was a little uncalled for, I thought. Just because douche-bag Craig wouldn't do me doesn't mean all gays wouldn't.

The phone sitting next to Craig's food vibrates and he snatches it up, grinning like a moron. How does Tweek even text when he's shaking so much? That's what I'd like to know. That kid is seriously messing up Craig and I. He's become a total sap. Craig asked me _how I was_ the other day. It was the most mindfucking thing that has ever happened to me. In theory, nicer Craig should make for happier Clyde. But it was just weird. I don't think I even responded.

I hope you don't think I'm jealous or anything. This isn't going to be one of those things where I end up falling in love with my best friend after having an "aha!" moment right when he's going to marry someone else or right when he's boarding an airplane. I know that always happens in faggy chick flicks, but don't expect it from me. I don't have a secret gay crush for Craig. The guy's an asshole. I'm surprised Tweek even goes for him. Being friends with someone is _way_ different than dating them. I like Tweek and all, but I don't really like being around Craig when he's in his "Tweek zone".

I could be at Chipotle right now stuffing my face with a beautifully large barbacoa burrito. With guacamole. The minute I realize this, I stand up and push my barely touched Taco _Hell_ over to Craig. Because, apparently, in addition to penises, he likes having dog shit in his mouth. "I'm leaving," I inform him. "Have fun screwing Tweek later. I'm sure he'll make you _soooo_ happy"

He flips me off. Good one, Craig. "Have fun going home and watching Lord of The Rings while eating a 500 calorie burrito," he replies.

It's kind of scary how well he knows me. This thought leaves me without a comeback. "Uh…I plan to." You sure showed him, Donovan. I snatch my cup off the table and leave. Mountain Dew Code Red has always been the only good thing about Taco Bell.

* * *

**A/N: My main concern is that it is so choppy that it's confusing and unreadable or that it just comes off as bad writing. Let me know what you think, and please be honest! I loved writing Clyde soi I want to know how I did :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I'm going to tell you something and you have to promise me that you won't tell anyone. You have to seriously pinkie swear me on this shit.

Sometimes I hang out with Stan Marsh.

I kind of want to go hide right now. I feel like someone's going to come castrate me or something. Seriously, though, he's a pretty cool guy when Jabba the Slut-In-An-Orange-Jacket, PMS Patty, and the fatass aren't around. We play football together and none of either of our friends do, so we chill sometimes. I'm the center to his quarterback, which, if you ask Craig, only means he feels up my butthole several times a week, but, if you ask me, it means we've gotta trust each other. If I don't give him a perfect snap, we're basically fucked and we lose.

Not like the team doesn't manage to lose despite my perfect snaps or anything. Marsh and I are the best on the team. Which basically means we suck major ass.

Craig's such a douche. Now I have absolutely no desire to go buy a burrito and watch Lord of Rings. I'm going to have to try and be cool so I can feel good about myself. What a hassle. Jeez.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone, flip it up, and stretch out the antenna. Yes, ok? I have a really old phone. I live a touch screen- free life, and I am very happy. And, I don't know what's up with everyone else, but I'm perfectly fine with picking up three different objects to call people, listen to music, and go on the internet. One item should not have that much power, it's just scary. With "Brick", I can text people, and if I'm feeling adventurous, call them. That's all I need.

I send a text to Stan that says _Chipotle?_ I'm not really sure where I'm walking to, but Marsh's house and mine are in the same direction so I just take my time, sipping my delicious Code Red and hoping he texts me back so I don't have to wallow in the fact that my closest friend is too wrapped up in some twitchy kid he'd never looked at twice before he decided he wanted to fuck to eat burritos with me.

As I pass Tom's Rhinoplasty, heading in the direction of houses, Stan texts me back. _Just come here and save me. Cartman and Kyle are playing BLOPS against each other_.

Huh. That blows. My options now include: crawling back to Craig like a total pussy, sitting in my Man Cave alone, or listening to a conceited Jew fight with a fat moron about a video game that should be worshipped, not argued about. I guess I could call Heidi and get suckered into taking her…wait, she dumped me. Alright, never mind. I'll just have to cross her off the list of potential-girls-that-will-like-me-for-a-reason-other-than-my-dad's-job. Every day I become less sure that this girl actually exists. And Token's on some fancy cruise to celebrate his richness.

The straw from my drink makes that slurping noise against the ice, signaling that my huge ass cup lacks Mountain Dew. And I'm hungry. When your life sucks as much as mine, you'll understand why I sometimes cry.

Marsh's house is closer than mine and, if I'm lucky, Cartman will pull a "Screw you guys, I'm going home" before I even arrive, so I go there.

It's kind of a nice day, for South Park, and I shake my cup up and down so the ice clangs and I have something to listen to. Before I'm even inside, I can hear that the fatass is still at Stan's. I sigh, but let myself in anyway.

"Pussy," Cartman mutters, looking over at the door at my entrance.

Here's the thing about me and Cartman. We'd kind of look alike if he was like 400 pounds less fat and I was way uglier. Also, he pisses me off so much every time he talks to me that usually I end up agreeing with what he says by mistake or I give some lame comeback, which leads us to me whining, "I'm not a pussy."

To which Cartman laughs. Stan waves me over from the couch. "Let it go man," he tells me.

"Yeah," Kyle adds, "Fat ass is just pissy because his mom made him sleep at Stan's last night so she could host a raging orgy."

Stan and I laugh at this, while Cartman's face turns red. He looks like a tomato kind of. Or that other red thing, the one that reminds me of Winnie the Pooh for some reason. I don't remember, but, whatever it is, that's what Cartman looks like.

The fat ass stands up, says his line, which I won't repeat because if you don't know it, you don't know _anything_, and leaves.

A _radish_, that's it. Cartman looks like a radish. "Fucking yes, he's gone," Kyle mutters. I'm really glad he's just a Daywalker and not a real ginger. Because, in all honesty, he kind of scares me without any added ginger-ness. He tosses the extra controller to Stan and they start to play again.

I sit next to Stan on the couch and stick my hand into a bag of cheesy poofs. "Thanks for coming," he says. "I might've killed myself eventually."

"No problem," I respond.

Once I realize that PMS Patty doesn't PMS so much when the fat ass isn't around, I feel a lot better. And I think that maybe I could do this. Stick it to Craig, let him butt fuck Tweek into as many walls or beds or whatever as he wants, and I'll just chill with Stan. It'll really piss him off and I'll have a fine time doing it and Marsh will have a normal person around when Kenny's…wherever Kenny goes and the other two are going at it. A friendship with Stan Marsh is like a win-win-win situation.

Clyde Donovan does _not_ pass up triple wins.

* * *

**A/N: The more time I spend writing this, the more I love it. Hopefully my characterization was still as good as you all thought it was in the first chapter and...yeah :D Oh! My friend calls Black Ops "Blops" and I just think it's hilarious, but no one else I know will call it that. So, I'll just enjoy making Stan call it that :D Thanks for all the review last chapter!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

School is a lot like jail. I know, everyone always says that. _Ugh, this place is a fucking prison, get me out of here_. Yada yada yada. But, I have an actual theory. The walls are made of cinderblocks, the food sucks, and people are constantly breathing down your neck. Also, there is plenty of gay sex to go around. Exhibit A, Craig Tucker, who is currently walking towards me, his middle finger pointed at the ground at his side, just in case he needs to whip it out on anyone.

Apparently, that anyone is me. "What the fuck, dude? I call you all ready to apologize and you don't answer?" Craig's pretty mad, his hand still poised in the air, flipping me off much longer than is necessary or normal, even coming from him.

I stare for a moment, wondering if my ears have suddenly betrayed me. _Apologize?_ "Apologize?" I repeat. "What has that spaz _done_ to you?" Craig raises an eyebrow and moves his unholy hand even closer to my face. "Must've missed the call, man. I was hanging out with some people."

"What people?" Craig laughs. "Token and I are your only real friends. And Annie dumped you last week, right?"

Except that I've never dated Annie because her hair looks like she got in a fight with a lawnmower and lost. I was dating _Heidi_. I just let this slide though because I'm surprised Craig even knows there's a girl named Annie in our grade. In my head, telling Craig that I was hanging out with Marsh does not happen in a school hallway and Craig's middle finger is not pressed against my nose. But, in the words of The Rolling Stones, you can't always get what you want. Hopefully, this is what I need. "Stan Marsh people," I respond. It's kind of awkward to have a conversation with someone when the bird is pressed up against your face.

Craig drops his hand in shock. At least, I think its shock. I've never seen this look on Craig's face. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" he says. "Marsh?" Craig glares at me for a moment or two. He's angrier than usual, too angry to flip me off. "Whatever." And he stalks away leaving me in an almost empty hallway, listening to the warning bell.

I show up to first hour Economics late. Don't judge. You would be in I-Just-Saw-A-Basilisk-But-It-Was-Probably-Through-A-Reflection-From-My-Cell-Phone-Screen-Since-I'm-Not-Dead mode too if your best friend was acting like a fat bitch on her period. The teacher glares at me, one of those glares where the chin is angled down and there are these squinty eyes peering at you over the edge of some librarian glasses. If I was Craig, or just not a pussy in general, I'd flip her off or something. But I just kinda fold in on myself, trying to look small which is basically impossible, and find my seat.

A paper airplane hits my shoulder and I know without looking that it will have "Pussy" scribbled on it in Cartman's barely legible scrawl. In my periphs, I see Token trying to feel Wendy up under a desk and Kenny passing a bag of weed Jason. I pick up the airplane and send it sailing to the garbage can, hearing Cartman's obnoxious snort like snickering behind me. The teacher's back is turned and she will be none the wiser that any of this is taking place. I notice because I'm just Clyde. Nothing special. Starter on a losing team. Second fattest in the class. With the gay best friend. Except, under no circumstances can the word "gay" be used in conversation when Craig Tucker is present. Instead, let's just make fun of Clyde for being _friends _with him. Clyde Donovan is dumb. Dumb as rocks. Supposedly. Which is why no one tries to censor things in front of me. Studies show I'm too dumb to pick up on anything.

That's what they think

Wendy shifts her desk away, Jason pockets the dope, another paper airplane slides across my desk.

What did I tell you? This classroom is exactly like a prison rec room.

* * *

**A/N: So short! My sincerest apologies. And it's been much much too long. I feel very upstaged by _Clyde's Declassified Guide To Picking Up Chicks_. But that's OK because it's awesome and hilarious. Clyde is perfect. You should all go check it out...now. Anyway :DDD Hopefully next chapter will be longer and faster. I love hearing from all my readers! Thanks so much for the reviews last chapter :DD**


End file.
